


Bright Lights Will Shine On

by hermankozik



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Catfish AU, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of self-harm, may or may not be Zouis endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermankozik/pseuds/hermankozik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis’ unwavering faith in the promise of being with Zayn often leads him around blindly, but he doesn’t seem to mind, as long as he truly believes that he’ll get what he wants in the end.<br/>Besides, it’s not like Louis hasn’t talked to Zayn outside of Facebook or anything. He’s not totally crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright Lights Will Shine On

**Author's Note:**

> Infinite thanks and love to Elyse for inspiring this in the first place, and to Gabrielle for encouraging me along the way. Thanks to Tiffany and Michelle for the beta; and to Jackie, Larisa, Mike, Mallory and Nicole for reading it over when I was struggling.
> 
>  ********* I understand that some people are having a problem with the 'ship tags I've included, but I really don't want to spoil it; I've changed it so Zouis may not be the only ship in the story, and it may or may not be endgame. You have been warned, okay?! I hope y'all understand my decision.
> 
> I've never written anything this long before, but it was really fun to get through. Hope everyone enjoys it!
> 
> Title comes from "Sit and Sink" by The Graduate.
> 
> [THIS](http://limabeanspayne.tumblr.com/post/76741928516/liamwayne-x) gif is everything. 
> 
> playlist [here](http://8tracks.com/andzoidberg/bright-lights-will-shine-on)

He could get off this website any time he wants. 

Really.

He could just click the little “x” in the top right corner of his browser, close his laptop, then go watch some trashy reality show until he falls asleep and a tiny bit of drool puddles on the pillow underneath him. Yeah, he could do that right now… 

Or, even better, he could continue talking to Zayn for a few more minutes. He has the strength to make the right decision. 

But once the little ding of a new message emits from his speakers, he slides his hand off the mouse and back onto the keyboard to type a quick **“** _ **yep, still here**_ **.”**

Louis and this whole “internet relationship” thing has been going on for nearly two years now, and he has yet to see Zayn’s face in person, or even on webcam. All Louis has seen are the twenty or so pictures that are up on Zayn’s Facebook profile, with only two of them being shots where his face isn't obscured from other people or objects or cigarette smoke billowing from his mouth. 

You’d think that would set off some sort of red light in Louis’ mind, like “hmm, something’s fishy about this, why doesn’t he have many pictures, why won’t he send me any more,” but, no, he doesn’t think too much of it. He’ll take excuse after excuse from Zayn, like _I don’t have a webcam_ or _I’m sick right now and I don’t want you to see me looking gross_ , because he’s head-over-heels, butt-crazy in love with the boy that lives halfway around the world. Louis’ unwavering faith in the promise of being with Zayn often leads him around blindly, but he doesn’t seem to mind, as long as he truly believes that he’ll get what he wants in the end. 

Besides, it’s not like Louis hasn’t talked to Zayn outside of Facebook or anything. He’s not _totally_ crazy.

They have each other’s phone numbers, and text every day and usually talk at least once a week. Their phone conversations often last longer than the ones they share via instant messages. 

Louis enjoys it. 

He gets just enough care and attention to tide him over until those conversations can evolve into something physical, something like laying on the couch, binge-eating cookies and marathoning _Teen Wolf_ until the clock tells them it’s the next morning already. 

Yeah, Louis is fine with that for now, but of course he still wants to see the smile that he hears in Zayn’s voice when he makes a joke. He wants to know if he’ll have to stand up on his tippy toes to kiss Zayn. He wants to know what Zayn’s voice sounds like when it’s not being fed through his crappy phone’s tinny speakers. He wants to swipe an eyelash off the apple of Zayn’s cheek and let him make a wish that probably won’t come true, but will feel good to make anyway. 

He knows it’s ridiculous to be this dependent on a boy he’s never met, but really, it’s all he’s got right now (and yes, he’s aware of how pathetic that sounds). He’s got his roommate, his co-workers and family, but they just don’t understand Louis on the same level that Zayn does. 

They don’t know what he’s been going through, and they don’t know what kind of place he’d be in if he didn’t have Zayn. If he’d even still be alive. 

If Louis told them about the relationship he’s in, and the amount of stuff he’s been telling the LA boy who recently relocated to London (pursuing some sort of art career, he hasn’t been specific), they’d either laugh at him, kick him to the curb, or abandon him at some mental institution, whatever option would be the easiest. 

As he’s pondering the endless teasing he’s sure to get from his younger sisters once they know the depth of the relationship, he hears the _ding_ and focuses on the screen.

> _**Zayn: Hey Lou. Knock knock.** _
> 
> _**Louis: Who’s there?** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Cash.** _
> 
> _**Louis: Cash who?** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Nah, man, I’d rather have some peanuts.** _

Louis sputters out a laugh, which then evolves into that really strong, really loud laughter that happens the more you think about the joke, and he’s doubled-over, hand pressed against a taught, aching stomach. It wasn’t really that funny, and realizing that makes him laugh harder. 

“Lou, it’s almost 3 AM,” Liam says, leaning inside the open doorway, bleary-eyed and verging on pure anger. He wants to be fast asleep and snuggled up in his bed, not listening to his roommate’s raucous laughter and the endless click-click-click of his fingers against the keyboard. “C’mon, get off that stupid site.” 

He gulps in as much air as he can before giggling some more. “Yeah, yeah, gimme a sec. Zayn’s still typing something, I can’t get off now.”

“Just…” Liam sighs. “Just keep it down, alright? I have to get up for work in a few hours. Don’t you do too?”

“Yeah,” Louis rubs his eyes, “yeah, sorry man.”

Liam wobbles back down the hall to his own room, and Louis gets up to shut his door to make it a little quieter, and diminish the chances of Liam coming back and throwing his laptop out the window. When he looks back at the screen a moment later, Zayn’s made yet another stupidly funny joke, and Louis bites down on his arm to stifle his laughter until he realizes he was trying too hard to silence himself, and he tastes the metal tang of blood in his mouth. 

He’s about ready to admit that it is, in fact, quite late, and he should get to bed, seeing as he’s got about three hours until he needs to be ready for work. Louis wipes the spit and tiny droplet of blood off his arm, then sits up straight and composes himself like his mom’s watching him and is going to yell at him for having poor posture. 

> _**Louis: Hey Zayn, I gotta log off. Work early.** _

It takes a moment before he sees that Zayn is replying to his message. Every sentence he types makes Louis nervous, makes him wonder if one day Zayn will just stop talking to him, and everything he has learned about him will just wither away into nothing. Louis is constantly aware of the fact that he may never meet the boy in person, and that fact remains at the forefront of his mind, day in and day out, making him break out in nervous sweats and chew his cuticles until they’re invisible. 

One night a few months ago—when he was a little tipsy—he told Zayn straight-up that one day he’s going to book a flight to London and show up on Zayn’s doorstep. Zayn immediately said _no, don’t_ (and later, he pretended that Lou never brought it up in the first place) but this notion still comes to Louis in fleeting instances. Tonight, he had the LAX booking website open and ready right next to the Facebook tab, just in case. 

The computer dings. 

> _**Zayn: Yeah, sounds good Louis. Fallin’ asleep zzzzzzzz** _
> 
> _**Louis: Talk to you tomorrow?** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Au revoir Mr. Tomlinson.** _

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Why Louis said yes to working the morning shift from 6:30-11 six days a week is beyond him, especially on days like this, when the place is packed for the “two danishes for two dollars” deal they constantly have, and he’s running on barely any sleep and four shots of espresso. He’s unsteady on his feet, and about two seconds away from falling asleep face-first into the pretty princess cake he’s decorating for a girl’s tenth birthday party. 

Zayn texted him until 5 AM after they logged off Facebook, leaving Louis with approximately an hour and half of rest before he had to get up to open the bakery. 

When he first got to work, he asked Harry to play some really loud speed metal or something that would keep his eyes open and his mind focused, but apparently Harry thought it would be a good time to finally adhere to the boss’s rules about what kind of music they’re allowed to play while customers are around (at least that’s what he said; he really just wanted to watch Louis mess up), so Louis was stuck with some nap-encouraging Jack Johnson. 

Harry hands a customer two cherry danishes, takes a peek at Louis’ cake, then sniggers at his co-worker, “Hey Louis, I’m pretty sure ‘birthday’ doesn’t have two t’s in it. And what’s that? Is that supposed to be an ‘r’?”

Louis looks at the pink squiggles of icing that he just piped on and hisses “fuck” just loud enough that the next people in line hear him, and shake their head in disapproval. 

“C’mon big boy, you’ve only got two hours left of work, then you can sleep.” Harry says. “Don’t go messing up these cakes, now. The boss lady will be pissed.”

Louis sighs. “Sorry, Harry. Just…don’t tell her, alright.”

Harry shakes his head. “O’course not.”

Louis rolls his neck, shakes his arms out and scrapes off the pink icing with an offset spatula before getting the vanilla buttercream to fix his mistake. Harry’s still hovering, making sure he’s not going to misspell such an easy word once more. 

“Lou?”

“I got it Harry, I’m fine. I’m awake.”

“You’re doing fine with the cake.” He waits for Louis to look up at him. “Rough night? You look like you could use a nap.”

“Nah, fine.” Louis wonders if he should tell Harry about his plans to meet Zayn. He tries to stall for a few more moments until he can decide whether or not he can trust his friend’s opinion on what to do. “Just…”

“What?”

Harry smiles at an elderly couple who’d walked in the door, and they ask for a box filled with all kinds of cookies and he obliges. When he places the last oatmeal raisin cookie in the box, Harry gives the old man his change, then he and his wife head out the door. He looks at Louis, egging him on to answer the question.

“You know how I’ve been kinda seeing someone, right?” He waits for Harry’s nod to continue. “I dunno, it’s not official or anything, unless you count Facebook the official determinant of relationship statuses.”

Harry grabs a tiny cookie covered in neon pink sprinkles for himself, then asks “I guess Facebook is official enough. How come I haven’t met him yet? We’ve been friends for quite a while; the least you can do is let me meet the boy you never shut up about.” 

Louis picks the piping bag off the counter and steadies his hand before re-writing the word he previously messed up. “Because … I haven’t, either … Met him, that is…That’s the next step.” He finishes the “ _…day_ ” on his cake, and looks up at Harry. “What?”

“Whaddaya mean you haven’t met him yet?”

Louis shrugs. “You know we met online. We just haven’t gotten a chance to see each other face-to-face yet.”

Harry puts his right hand down on the counter, and leans over just enough that he’s towering over Louis, busy concentrating on the cake. “That’s weird, man. How’d you even, like, start talking to him, or whatever? You just being a creep and messaging all the cute boys you could find?”

“It wasn’t really THAT random.” Louis says. “Liam said he knew Zayn from when he was little, and that he and I would like each other. I don’t know, it just became a…thing, I guess.”

“Whatever, man. As long as you’re happy.” Harry wipes the crumbs off his shirt. “You’re happy, right? Not just putting on a brave face for me?”

“Yeah.’M Happy”

Harry stands up and greets two customers who just walked in the door, all smiles, dimples out and in full-force (no wonder he always makes the most sales). He pats Louis’ shoulder, and walks to the other end of the counter with a cheery “hello ladies!” Louis makes one final apple blossom in light purple buttercream before sliding the cake into a box. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_Louis was on the floor, letting his sisters have free reign of the couch. The youngest kept kneeing the back of his head accidentally because she was trying to avoid being tickled by the oldest, and for now, Louis doesn't mind. He's numb right now. Not feeling the gut-wrenching lows or the things-aren't-so-bad-after-all highs. There’s nothing there._

_They're fine for a while, sitting there with the TV on at an obnoxious volume and the random mini spats and arguments coming and going at varying times._

_They're fine for a while, until Louis tries to play along when a tickle fight breaks out, and the sleeve on his sweatshirt rides up his forearm, exposing his wrists._

“ _What are those? What happened?” The youngest screeches like she’s just seen a ghost, or something incredibly scary and traumatizing. Louis tries to pull the cuff back down to its proper place as quickly as possible, but all of their tiny hands are grabbing at his, examining the slashes like worried mothers. The marks vary in coloring, some just a ghost of a line against pale skin, others a puckered pink that looks like candy coated lips, and still others are an angry scab of red and brown, fresh signs of a healing process._

_Now, Louis panics._

_He's no longer numb._

_He sees white stars and surges of red in his line of vision in what feels like hours, but in reality is only a matter of seconds. A deep, echoing boom resonates behind his eardrums, can be felt thrashing in his throat. He's hot and cold, feeling frozen and capable of melting an iceberg in the same instant._

_Before he knows it, two of the girls are running from the room, screaming “mom” over and over until the syllables melt together and sound like some foreign mantra. He's feeling welded to the floor, his feet stuck and unmoving from their current position. Its more flashes of red and white, a quick glimpse at a maternal face riddled with guilt and anger and confusion and worry, until he sees nothing but black. The air's been quickly drawn from his lungs and can't make its way back inside like it's supposed to._

_This was supposed to be for him. His own release. His own selfish act. His secret._

_Now, he felt like a toddler who'd gotten in trouble and was being watched like he’d lash out again at any moment. He couldn't wear long sleeves without being checked constantly. No being left alone with his siblings. No potentially harmful objects in his near vicinity. No locked doors at any times. Mandatory weekly “check-ins” to make sure he's okay._

_He’s like a field mouse, scurrying around for shelter to try and hide from the ever-present hawk nearby._

_He wants to hide somewhere dark and quiet and far away and never come out._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

> _**Zayn: Hey Louis, whaddaya want to do with your life?** _
> 
> _**Louis: Hmm... become a professional couch potato. That can totally be a thing, right?!** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Haha. Don't think so, man. Sorry.** _
> 
> _**Louis: Damn. Well...then I guess I don't really know.** _
> 
> _**Zayn: How could you not know? Isn't that, like, what you're supposed to go to college for?** _
> 
> _**Louis: Maybe if I stayed in college and didn't drop out. HOLY SHIT MAYBE I'M MISSING OUT ON FINDING THE MEANING OF LIFE!!! DAMN COLLEGE!!!!** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Oh... d'ya mind me asking why?** _
> 
> _**Louis: Why what?** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Why you dropped out of college? Anything like, super important?** _

 

Louis didn't really want to get into this right now, to be honest. He’s feeling pretty good today—no flitting thoughts of harm and no blackouts, where he loses focus for minutes at a time—and doesn't really want to bring himself back down to that level right now, but this is Zayn he’s talking to. Louis would walk himself straight into the pits of Hell if Zayn told him to.

 

> _**Louis: Well, y'know how I said I've been having a few bad years?** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Yeah** _
> 
> _**Louis: Well, that whole ~college~ thing, like, pushed me over the edge? I guess you could say? I was thinkin of droppin out anyway, but there were a few things that totally convinced me that was my best option if I wanted to....like…stay alive, I guess.** _

 

It's about three minutes of total static between them, because “Zayn is typing...” keeps appearing and disappearing from the chat window, and Louis can't even breathe properly, let alone type something coherent that could urge Zayn to continue this conversation. There's a lump bubbling at the back of his throat and he feels like a total knob for actually typing that out, and letting that horrible, dark side of him be exposed to the one shining light in his life. 

Finally, Zayn types something, and it's just “ _oh_.”

 

> _**Louis: “Oh.” Really? Not to be a total prick or anything, but that's all you can say? “Oh?”** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Sorry man, it's just a lot to think about right now. I don't want to say the wrong thing...and sorry, but I gotta run. I gotta head out** _
> 
> _**Louis: Yeah, alright. Later.** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Later, Lou.** _

 

Louis closes out his Facebook tab and just starts to spin around and around in his chair with his hands covering his face, because he really wants nothing more than to turn the clock back five minutes and bind his hands in duct tape to prevent him from typing out something so stupid in the first place.

Just then, Liam pops his head in the open doorway, “Hey Lou, wanna go do somethin'?”

“Nah,” he replies, still spinning in his chair, but slower. He's going to make himself sick if he keeps up the quick rotations.

“You sure?” Liam steps into the room. “It looks like you could use a distraction.”

Louis stops spinning, and seriously asks Liam, “Could you just do me a favor and destroy my computer so I stop making a complete ass out of myself?”

“What'd you do?” Liam leans his right shoulder against the doorframe, and tucks his hands deep in his sweatshirt's pockets. “Couldn't be THAT bad.”

“Well, it's bad enough that I don't deserve to have any internet for a while.”

“You gonna ground yourself? Isn’t the point of living away from your mom to avoid punishment and stuff?”

Louis scrubs his hand over his face then runs it through his mess of hair. He might as well take some time to breathe and stop fretting over his conversation with Zayn, otherwise he’s going to slip right back into that bad place inside his head. “Whatever, man. I'll get out of here, I guess.”

Liam smiles at that, earnest. “C'mon, let's go forget all of our troubles and eat greasy food until we hate ourselves.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

“So, how're things going with you and Mr. Perfect?”

The two boys have been at this diner for almost two hours, just ordering plate after plate of greasy, disgusting food that somehow makes Louis feel better about himself and makes him temporarily forget about what he last said to Zayn. They're the only ones here besides an elderly man sitting in a corner booth reading a newspaper and drinking coffee, and it just feels _right_ ; just them in this diner, that feels comfortable; it’s like a protective little bubble that Louis can leave all of his troubles in, and go back home, safe, away from those thoughts.

“He's not perfect, Leemo, you know that.” Louis flicks a tiny piece of burnt fry across the table. “Pretty close, though. I’m sure you have some stories that could completely sway me the other way, but I still think he’d be damn near close to the Godly tier.”

“Hmmph.”

“What?”

“You really like him _that_ much?”

Liam looks seriously doubtful, and that's not really helping Louis at this point; he needs encouragement, that, yes, he should be pursuing Zayn, he should be trying to find a source of happiness. If anyone would know that, it should be Liam. Liam who spent hours on the other side of a locked door trying to console a hysterical Louis. Liam who never questioned, never prodded, just let Louis open up when he was ready. Liam who was there and okay with the complete silence that enveloped their whole apartment on the “off” days where Louis couldn't pull himself out of the encompassing black that clouded his thoughts. 

Louis wanted Liam to be there for him now, too, when no one else seemed to understand that it was entirely possible to be truly in love with a boy he'd never met. He wanted at least one person on his side, and he figured that Liam was his best bet since he was here, now, and he knew the ins and outs of handling Louis. He also had the added bonus of actually knowing Zayn, proving that he was, at the very least, real, and had some insight on whether or not he was a decent guy. 

“I do, Liam, yeah.” He pushes a fry around in a splatter of ketchup without looking up. His heart flutters a little just at the thought of Zayn, and how much happiness he's brought over the years; how he'd managed to be a stable fixture amongst all the turbulence that Louis went through. He feels like a lovesick teenage girl who would write “Mrs. Malik” all over her notebooks, and would tease the boy at lunchtime because she didn’t know how else to get his attention. 

“Well, if you're happy,” Liam says. “Then carry on with that. I'll be here for you if you need me.”

Louis looks up at Liam, who's looking right back, eyes soft and warm and understanding. Louis' heart flutters again. It's nice knowing that he has at least one person to be there for him no matter what. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

> _**Louis: Hey Zayn?** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Yes Louis?** _
> 
> _**Louis: D’you have a webcam?** _
> 
> _**Zayn: You know I don’t. I’m positive I’ve told you that before.** _
> 
> _**Louis: Right, right…** _

 

Louis starts to chew on the straw sticking out of his iced coffee, not caring that tiny remaining droplets caught inside the tube are falling onto his shirt and the floor beneath him. He gets up from his computer chair with a squeak, and crawls over onto the couch, tucking his feet under his bum before settling his laptop on the arm of the couch. He mindlessly taps his fingers along various letters on the keyboard without actually pressing them hard enough to type on the screen, because he’s not sure of what to say, or even how to say it.

> _**Louis: Hey Zayn?** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Yes Louis?** _
> 
> _**Louis: Can we…** _

 

He hits send even though he’s not even sure if he should follow up with the question he originally planned. Zayn types first.

 

> _**Zayn: Can we what?** _
> 
> _**Louis: Um…** _
> 
> _**Zayn: You alright?** _
> 
> _**Louis: Yeah, yeah. Just…not sure if I should ask this.** _

Louis pauses for a minute. Types something else just to make it seem less serious:

 

> _**Louis: Hahaha.** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Go, Louis. You know you can ask me anything. Well, anything within reason.** _
> 
> _**Louis: Can we, umm, meet? In person? Please?** _

 

He sits there staring at the screen for a few seconds, maybe longer. He’s seeing black spots everywhere and he feels like he’s going make his lip start to bleed because he’s chewing on it so hard. Just as he starts to shift the laptop onto the cushion next to him, the computer dings again.

 

> _**Zayn: I’m not too sure about that, Louis.** _
> 
> _**Louis: Don’t make me beg, Zayn. And don’t make me just show up at your house or something.** _
> 
> _**Zayn: Give me a bit to think. Alright?** _

 

Zayn logs off, and Louis nearly stops breathing. He’s shoved his laptop off and away from him, and he’s shaking and he doesn’t know what to do now, or what he’ll do if Zayn says no. He’s refused to let himself sink into the black hole he’d finally gotten out of, but the possibility of losing the one thing that’s kept him sane his making that incredibly difficult to accomplish. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

_Yeah, kids got bullied all the time. Yeah, it sucks big time. Yeah, it made Louis feel like he served no purpose in life._

_It's not easy to just ignore the scathing words and the physical actions, despite what all those campaigns about anti-bullying say. They don't say how to deal with the slurs, with the pranks, with the hitting and kicking and screaming. Fellow students stand by and watch. Teachers turn a blind eye to it for fear of getting reprimanded. Principals don't bother to intervene._

_It's him. And them._

_No filter. No buffer._

_You can only hear so many “do you want to talk about it”s before you just want to give up entirely, never look back. That would be easier than sitting there day after day, sitting in anticipation of what you may or may not face once you get to the building that’s meant to teach kids right from wrong._

_No one helps; it’s a “me versus everyone” philosophy that no kid should be expected to uphold when they’re going through enough as it is, and need all the support they can get._

_Really all Louis has known is that he’s been losing round after round of the battle, and he doesn’t know if he will ever conquer his opponents (both the others and himself)._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

At two in the morning, Louis’ phone lights up stark white against the pitch black of his bed room. He fumbles with it, trying to blink back the sting of the sharp, bright contrast filling his line of vision. It’s a text, from Zayn.

> _**I’m coming to LA next week to visit my mom. We can discuss meeting somewhere, I guess.** _

The phone slips out his hand and he nearly falls out of bed, but Louis catches himself against his nightstand right before his forehead collides with it. He scrambles to try and turn on the lamp by his bedside, just to make sure that he’s awake, this is happening, and he’s not going to type something back that he’ll regret later. 

> _**Yeah. Gosh, wow, yeah! Talk tomorrow!** _

He lays in bed, awake for hours, nothing but jitters and smiles for the first time in a long time. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Louis is anxious, to say the least. His hands are shaking around the mug he’s gripped tightly, and he can’t seem to stop his leg from bouncing up and down. He’s looking up at the door every time the bell chimes, then surveying the whole coffee shop to see if Zayn’s here yet. He probably looks like an addict suffering from withdrawl, jonesing for anything that could tide him over until his next hit, limbs shaking like crazy and eyes darting about in hyper-awareness of everything going on around him. 

It’s nearly 12:30 on Wednesday the 25th, half an hour later than he was supposed to meet Zayn for coffee. They figured this would be the easiest bet, since the shop is halfway between Louis’ place and Zayn’s mom’s house, and it’s quiet enough that they could have some privacy, but public enough to have an easy escape route if things backfire. Louis even convinced Harry to come along—and keep his distance—just to make sure Louis doesn’t get abducted or anything. Okay, well, Harry tagging along was his own idea, just as a safety net incase Louis had one of his major freak-outs or something. 

He keeps checking his phone; like if he stares at it long enough, he could will a text from Zayn to show up. Instead, all he sees is the clock ticking by minute after minute, mocking him about the fact that he’s been sitting here for over thirty minutes, waiting to drink ridiculously overpriced coffee with the boy of his dreams. He shoots a quick look at Harry, who’s busy chatting up some blonde girl in a crop top and yoga pants, then turns back to stare at the steaming cup in his hands. He's at the point where he feels like he’s hallucinating, like the steam is sending him secret messages, such as _He's never going to come_ and _You're an idiot for thinking this could actually happen_. 

“Louis?”

He hears his name, but doesn’t recognize the Irish accent, and doesn’t know how to respond. Louis looks up slowly, and in front of him is some blond kid who looks young enough to be mistaken for a hooligan skipping sixth period p.e. class.

“Hey, you Louis?” The kid asks again, taking a step forward and removing his sunglasses.

“Yeah?” He responds, while his internal monologue is running wild, repeating _please don’t be Zayn please don’t be Zayn_ over and over. If it was in fact Zayn, _one,_ he’d be beyond pissed that he’d been lied to all this time, _two,_ he’d be beyond pissed at himself for getting so deeply invested in this relationship and pushing away any other chances he had along the way and _three,_ he’d be embarrassed for showing up and looking like a fool. “Zayn?”

“Nah, man, Zayn couldn’t make it.” The kid extends his hand to Louis. “I’m Niall, Zayn’s friend. Sorry, but he wanted me to tell you that something came up last minute.”

Louis did his best to fight back a smile of complete relief. Yeah, he was crushed that Zayn backed out last minute, but at least he wasn’t this fidgety, scrawny kid. 

“So, Zayn couldn’t make it? And he sent you…instead of just calling me, or something?”

Niall nodded. Pulled out the chair across from Louis, and took a seat. Hollered at the barista to make him the sweetest drink they had. “Yeah, he figured it would’ve been more…personal? I guess? If he had his best mate tell ya instead of sending a stupid text or something.” He ran his fingers through the tuft of fallen bangs laying against his forehead in an attempt to make them stick up, but it failed. “I was in the area anyway, and I really wanted some coffee. No big deal, really.”

Louis slumped down in his chair. Huffed, “yeah, no big deal.” 

“Zayn won’t shut up about you, though. If that makes ya feel any better.” 

“R-really?” He perks up at that, looking just on the verge of desperate.

“Yeah. It’s annoying as hell. Like, ‘Louis did this today,’ or ‘you’ll never guess what joke Louis made,’ blah blah blah.” 

Louis takes a sip of his coffee, bites back the huge smile that’s trying to work its way across his face. He looks up at Niall. “So how long’ve you known Zayn?”

“Few years,” he says quickly, eyes darting around the coffee shop. “Went to college together. I have lots of crazy-ass stories if you’re interested.”

“Tempting, but, not right now.”

Niall gets up and gets his drink when it’s called, then momentarily returns to the table to get his sunglasses. “Well if it’s alright with ya, I’ll head out. Got a date tonight with this hot bartender chick I met last week.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis offers his hand, “nice to meet you. Thanks for stopping by, I guess.”

“You got it, mate. Good luck with Zayn.” Niall heads for the door, but turns back and leans his hands on the back of the chair, almost as an afterthought. “He’s a tough cookie.”

“Wait, whaddaya mean ‘tough cookie’?”

“Like…” He pauses. “OH! I got it! Y’know those candy bars with like the hard chocolate shell? And when you eventually get through the shell there’s like layers and layers of caramel and cookies and stuff?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah…”

“Okay, that’s what Zayn’s like. You gotta get through the shell to get to the really good stuff…” He smirks. “Dude, I gotta run, I’ll catch ya later!” 

Eventually Niall leaves, and Harry comes out of nowhere to swoop right in and take a seat, turning the chair around so he was straddling the seat, arms folded atop the back of the chair. “Holy shit, was that Zayn?! I thought you said he was tall, dark and handsome? Why’d he leave so quick? Why—”

“That wasn’t him.” Louis cuts him off. “Zayn couldn’t make it. That was his friend Niall, who came to tell me that.”

“That blows.” 

Louis mutters “I wish something else would be blown instead…” 

“Listen, Lou, just, like, text Zayn or something. You said he’s crashing at his mom’s house, right? So he’s got to be here for a little while longer. You can’t lose _total_ hope, right?”

“That’s true,” Louis sighs. “It’s not like he’s gonna fly halfway around the world and not stay here a bit.”

Harry sticks up his hand for a high-five. “That’s the spirit! Alright, let’s get out of here.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It's a staggering walk back to the apartment, Louis dealing with blurred vision and shaky legs because of all the caffeine he just consumed. Like a bartender cuts off a drunkard who's had one beer too many, the barista probably should have stopped Louis from having more than 4 shots of espresso, but of course, they didn't, because they're not paid enough to care about what the customers order. Harry has to steady him a few times so he doesn't trip over the curb or forget how to climb stairs. 

“You want me to make you lunch?” Harry offers, opening up the main door to building, and assuring that Louis can make it up two flights of stairs without causing serious bodily harm to himself.

“If by 'lunch' you mean boxed mac and cheese that a child can make, then, yes. You can make me lunch, Harry.”

“Remind me to limit your caffeine intake from here on out. You get snippy when you're wired.”

Just as Harry readies the key to get into the apartment, the door opens up and Liam practically runs straight into them.

“Oh, sorry man, sorry.”

“S’alright, Liam.” Louis smiles. “Where ya headed?”

He replies just a little too fast, “Out. Seeing a friend.” The keys in his hands jingle nervously, like he's trying to avoid all conversation and just trying to get the hell out of dodge. 

“Alright.”

Liam smiles quickly then heads off, but he turns back quickly, snaps his attention to Louis as a jittery hand runs back and forth through his short hair. “Oh, it totally slipped my mind. Weren’t you meeting Zayn today? How’d that go?”

Louis shrugs, “He didn’t show. I was gonna call him in a bit, actually. Set up another day to meet.”

“Alright cool.” Liam says. “See you later, then.” 

He shuffles off down the hallway, looking back, unsure, once again before rounding the corner. 

“I don't think I've ever seen Liam in that much of a rush. He's usually pretty 'lax.” Harry says.

“Whatever,” Louis steals the key out of Harry's hand and opens the door. “We've got more pertinent things to worry about, my friend.”

“So, this Zayn fellow. Is he hot?”

“Unbelievably so.”

Harry makes himself comfortable on the couch, nestling against the right arm of it while simultaneously propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. Louis' typical gesture of _make yourself right at home_ is for naught here, because once Harry's comfortable, he'll do as he pleases (as long as it's within reason), and Louis kind of loves him for that. 

“You've never showed me his Facebook.” Harry says. “Because I know your 'hot' is way different from my 'hot.' Remember that blonde girl that came into the bakery last week with her tits out? You barely even looked at her.”

“That's because her tits were fake, Harry. Very obviously so.” Louis takes a seat next to Harry, and wedges his computer into the lap space between them. “Here, lemme pull up Zayn's page.”

Louis tilts the screen away from Harry a bit so he can shuffle through photos, trying to pick the best one to show first, the one that'll make the best impression and have Harry nod his head in agreement about how beautiful Zayn is. He finds a bathroom mirror selfie that, admittedly, is a little cheesy and lame, but the light hits his face just right, and he looks incredible.

“Oh shit, he _is_ hot.”

“Told you.”

Harry steals the laptop from Louis and starts scrolling through the whole profile from beginning to end. “His page is awfully empty. Like, suspiciously empty. I don't know anyone who has such little stuff on their page, except for, like, sociopaths.”

“Not everyone has to talk about every little detail about their life like you do, Sir Posts-a-lot.” 

“Maybe he has posts hidden from you, or something.”

“Why would he do that?”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno. Let me log out of your profile, see if I can see anything different.”

“I’ve already been obsessively looking at his Facebook, there’s no way you’re gonna find anything else.”

Since Harry wasn’t a mutual friend, he figured he’d see even less of Zayn’s profile than Louis could, but he’d give it a shot anyway, because there had to be some reason why he barely had any posts. 

They discovered a few more pictures, a handful of links to YouTube videos—mostly music videos for some indie bands that Louis had never heard of—a couple of dumb memes his friends posted, and…

“Looks like Zayn and Liam are better friends than you thought.” Harry looked up over the screen at Louis across from him. “Didn’t you say they haven’t talked since they were kids or something?”

“That’s what Liam said…” Louis rips the laptop from Harry’s lap, so he can look at the screen too. It looks like Liam is a frequent visitor to Zayn’s profile, leaving everything from giant walls of text to one-word inside jokes, that, judging by the comments, makes Zayn laugh until he pisses himself. 

Harry points at one post, dated yesterday, which reads **“** _ **Comin to Looonndddooooonnnnn! Christmas break you’re all miiinneeee Zaaayynnnn!**_ **”**

“Louis, did Liam say anything about Christmas break?”

He shakes his head, “Said he was trying to figure out his plans. He was hoping to visit his grandma, I think.”

“Well, I'm ninety-nine percent sure that Zayn isn't his grandma, so.”

Louis knocks Harry's hand off the mouse, and scrolls through the profile himself. Liam's pretty much the only person that seems to contact Zayn. He knew they kept in touch, but wasn't aware of the extent of their conversations.

“Are you gonna talk to one of them about it?” Harry asks. “See what's up with this?”

Louis shrugs. “Dunno. They're the ones who have been friends, so I don't think I should have a say in their relationship, right? ”

“You could still ask. It doesn't hurt.”

“What am I gonna say Harry? 'Are you guys keeping something from me or what?' That's dumb. I don’t want to risk ruining either relationship by meddling.”

He sighs. “Whatever, Louis. There's some reason why they blocked you from seeing these posts.”

Louis doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to know why they blocked him or why they kept their conversations hidden, it's none of his business, really. 

He trusts them both. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

_It was nearly midnight, and Louis had been sitting in his room, enveloped in complete darkness, save for one small lamp tucked away in the furthest corner. It barely illuminated anything, and he could just barely see what his shaking hands were writing on the paper in front of him._

“ _How dramatic could this be before it just turned absolutely ludicrous?” he thought to himself. Who would find it? His mom? His sister? What would they do the second their eyes followed line after line until they reached the final punctuation mark?_

_Cry? Scream? Go completely numb?_

_Louis scrapped the note for the fourth time. Started a new one. Kept it short and sweet._

_Scrapped it again._

_By the eighth note, he was wearing thin. At this rate, he was just going to leave a sticky note that had a half-assed “bye” scrawled on it._

_But as he looked at the options before him, he realized that this may be too much. If he stalled this much, kept putting it off, did he_ really _want to do it? Wouldn't he have been 100% decided by now?_

_He tore up each crumpled up paper into indecipherable pieces, then threw himself face-first onto his bed. Maybe he’ll try it again another time._

_He decided to let the one lone light continue to burn against the dark night._

~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It’s late on a Tuesday night, and Louis has to get up for work by 6 at the very latest, but he’s still on the computer, scrolling through Tumblr in one tab, and awaiting a message on Facebook in another. He’s rocking back and forth in the squeaky chair at his computer desk, while Liam lies on his stomach on Louis’ bed, typing away on his own computer.

“Shouldn’t you be going to sleep?” Liam asks.

Louis doesn’t turn around to reply, “That’d be kinda hard with you in my bed and all, unless you’re up for some heavy spooning.”

“You waiting to hear from Mr. Perfect?” Liam snorts. “Still don’t know how you could be this willing to tell this guy every detail about your life when you haven’t even met him. Plus, you’ve got a roommate right here who’s ready to put up with your bullshit. Willingly, may I add.”

“A connection is a connection, Liam. Doesn’t matter if I’ve ever met him or not.” Louis spins around on his chair to face Liam. “And besides, you put up with enough of my crap as it is. I don’t need to be giving you any more reasons to think I’m a total knob.”

Liam mutters, “You’re not a _total_ knob,” thinking Louis can’t hear it, but he does. He just elects to not respond to it. 

The familiar Facebook “ding” makes Louis spin around on his chair so fast he almost makes a full rotation and passes the computer entirely. 

 

> **_You make me really happy, Lou. Just thought you should know :) xx_ **

 

Louis is at a loss for words, and he feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. 

Liam shuts his laptop and wriggles his way off the bed, but not before leaning over Louis’ shoulder to see what made him go really quiet. 

“Aww how cute.” He ruffles Louis’ hair. “Now get to bed. You can talk to him again tomorrow.”

“Yes, _mom._ ” 

He leaves the room, and shuts the door behind him. Louis poises his hands on the keyboard, to type and delete, type and delete four different messages that he wants to send to Zayn.

 _Oh my God Zayn you’re perfect!!_ No.

 _I’m gonna vomit rainbows I’m so happy._ No again.

Simplify it.

> **_That’s great to know, because you make me really really happy too, Zayn. Xoxo_ **

He hits send, then gets up from the chair and strips himself of everything but his boxers. He checks the messages one last time to see if Zayn responded, but it said he went offline. He’ll get Louis’ message next time he logs on.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_The room is decorated to seem like a warm and welcoming environment, where patients can spill their guts out and not make a mess out of it. Burgundy curtains shield any possible light that could come in, and near-matching couches are lined up to form a square. Book cases are filled to the brim with notebooks and novels and textbooks and the shelves are just beginning to buckle under all of the weight, and for a fleeting moment, Louis wonders what it would be like to watch an avalanche of books cascade onto the floor while he's in the middle of explaining why he used a serrated knife that one Wednesday afternoon, instead of a straight-edged razor.._

_He feels cold, though, despite the warm tones that are overloading his senses, and the oaky smell of some sort of incense lingering in stale air. The leather of one couch squirms underneath him, and it's not at all comforting; he kind of wishes he had a bean bag chair or something that could be comfortable, and possibly swallow him whole if he wriggles down far enough._

_“Louis, this is your third session. I believe it's about time we discuss your feelings.”_

_Doctor Luz is very nice, Louis has to admit that, but it's still so strange to him that he has to discuss his most personal information with a woman whom he barely knows, when he can't even being himself to talk to his mom about anything when he's known her his entire life._

_“Can you tell me what you felt the first time you harmed yourself?” She prods, a notebook propped against the arm of her black leather chair and a red pen poised in her hand. “What made you decide to do it?”_

_“Dunno.”_

_“People don't just decide to harm themselves one day, Louis. It's a thought-out process, something that's been planned and calculated with all of the details in order.”_

_Louis shifts around and tries to curl himself in a little ball, but the stiff cushions of the couch make it nearly impossible to get comfortable. He wants to be able to disappear into the recesses of the cushions if he gets scared of what he's saying, but that's clearly not going to happen here. “I thought it would help me.”_

_“Help you with what?”_

_“I dunno,” he crosses his arms against his chest. “Dealing with it, I guess.”_

_“How did you figure it would help you 'deal with it'? Would it give you a realization? A release?”_

_“Both, I guess.”_

_She quickly writes something on her notepad, and it makes Louis squirm, not knowing what it is._

_“What did you realize after the first time you had done it?”_

_“That I was a worthless piece of shit.”_

_“What made you think of yourself in that way?”_

_Louis shrugged. “I was shit for letting it happen to me. I was shit for making myself bleed. I was just shit in general, hence the whole bullying thing.”_

_Dr. Luz shifted her legs so her left was over her right, and she moved her notebook right along with it. “Did the self-harming make you realize anything? Feel anything different?”_

_Louis shrugged again._

_“It must have, since you did it more than once,” she continued. “And since you deemed it necessary to try and take your own life, as well.”_

_He hated talking about this. Though the whole point of therapy was to let him roam in “judgment free” zone, he still felt like he was garnering unneeded pity; he hated himself enough in the pre-attempt and post-attempt time periods, and he didn't really want to prolong it by bringing it up again and again until he just wanted to do it once more. He wanted to acknowledge it, fix it, then move on._

_“How do you feel now, Louis?”_

_“Better, I guess.”_

_“Have you thought of doing it again in the past few months?”_

_He smirked to himself, feeling the first signs of a waterworks show that was just beginning; the pressure and heat behind his eyeballs, the twinge and twitch of his cheek muscles, the sudden stuffiness in his nose... “Yeah.”_

_“When?” She passed him a box of tissues without relenting in her stone-faced expression at all. “And why?”_

_“M'mom was a little drunk, and, uh,” he clears his throat. “She found a note I'd written. She read it to me out loud, and started crying and stuff, and she said she was disappointed in me. For thinking about it in the first place, for, um, having 'the audacity' to think of leaving her.” He takes a single tissue out and just holds it, turns it around and around in his hands, so he can look at that and not at Dr. Luz._

_“How did that make you feel?”_

_“Betrayed,” he replied without missing a beat. “That, um, that she cared more about herself and how she'd fair without me than caring that I’d actually be gone.”_

_Dr. Luz writes something else down on her notepad. Louis is about ready to crawl out of his own skin, with all of these memories coming right back to the forefront of his mind, where he didn't want them to be. He'd pushed them back, and kept them at bay for so long that having them back gave him that same sense of uselessness and abandonment. At this point, he wished he hadn't gone to therapy; it was proving to be more harmful than helpful._

_“You're loved, Louis. Though it may not seem like that's the case after your mother's actions, it's true.” Dr. Luz puts her pen and paper down, and looks at Louis, actually looks at him, instead of regarding him as just another troubled kid that's been pushed into her office by a concerned parent. “You're needed; you have a purpose in this life. I'm not trying to lessen the severity of what happened to you, but I think that you're stronger than this. You've clearly been able to hold your own for this long, along with having to worry about taking care of your family. I think you'd benefit from some time apart from your family, so I'm going to suggest taking time for yourself to rebuild and re-evaluate your life, and figure out where you'll be headed.”_

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~

 

> _**Hey Louis. REALLY sorry I missed you today at the café. Mum forgot to tell me that my little sister had her dance recital. Had to go. Couldn’t say no. Hehehe look at that I rhymed! Talk to you soon. Xx** _

 

Louis stares at the screen for a long time, trying to figure out what to say. Because “hey thanks for not showing up to meet me” was a little obnoxious, and “why didn’t you tell me you still kept in touch with my roommate” was weird. 

 

> **_Alright man, don't sweat it. Talk soon_. **

Louis hits send, them closes his laptop. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_After dropping out his junior year, Louis had to make a decision that followed either his mom’s advice or his therapist’s. He’d actually only gone to three sessions with Doctor Luz before realizing it wasn’t working for him, but in those three sessions he felt more trustworthy of this woman with three different kinds of doctorates than he did of his own mother. It was something about her aversion to jumping to conclusions and purposely trying to push his buttons that made her seem like the more reliable source._

_His mom told him to stay home, quit his job at the bakery and just take care of his sisters. Something about a close familial relationship and a warm home making him feel better. Bull shit._

_Dr. Luz had suggested removing himself from the home since that had been an addition to his current problems instead of a resolution. He should move out, but not too far away, and room with someone he knows and can trust in case things got bad._

_Harry’d offered the guest room in his house, but Louis had figured that Harry’s mom would be similar to his, trying to care about him and still keep her distance, but still end up smothering him anyway._

_Louis lucked out with Liam, whom he’d known since middle school, and who happened to need a roommate right away. Liam could be the stable, trustworthy person he knew and could rely on if things took a turn for the worse, and his mom would just be a twenty minute drive away._

_The day Louis moved in, his mom was at his side every step of the way, alternating between crying and being strong for him. Liam thought she was just being the stereotypical mom who didn’t want to let her baby bird leave the nest, but eventually, she let on that something else was wrong with the situation. Louis wanted to dramatically leap in front of her to stop her from telling Liam about the suicide attempt and everything, but luckily she didn’t say any of that; just that Louis needed time on his own, and a friend who would be there for him if he needed it. She told Liam over and over to look after her son, and if anything seemed “off,” to call her immediately, no matter what time it was._

_~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~_

It's finally _the_ day.

Louis is going to meet Zayn. Louis is going to hug and kiss Zayn. Louis is going to live happily ever after with Zayn. 

Louis is going to be sick to his stomach.

“Dude, are you ready? You look like you're gonna puke.”

Harry's not helping, of course, because Louis really does feel like he's going to spew; he had slept barely two hours last night, and this entire morning he was restless and fidgety and couldn't even hold any of his breakfast down. It's probably not at all healthy and he's watched enough medical dramas to know he'll probably pass out or something the second he sees Zayn, from a combination of the empty stomach and the overwhelming moment.

“C'mon,” Harry tugs on his elbow to try and get him up from the couch. “Can't sit here all day. Big day ahead of you, buddy.”

“I can't do this.”

He's been bouncing back and forth between that happy, fluttery nervousness that people usually get before their first date and that self-loathing, worthless feeling of dread that accompanies his nervousness most of the time.

 “Yes you can, you're a big boy Louis, you can get through this.”

“What's he still doing here?” Liam asks as he comes out of his room and walks through to the kitchen to get his phone off the table. “Shouldn't you have left by now?”

“He's gonna spew.” Harry replies.

Liam goes to Louis and pats him on the shoulder. “You'll be fine, man.”

“But what if I'm not? What if Zayn turns out to be a psycopath or something?!”

“Just...” Liam huffs. “Just go in there expecting something good to happen. Don't shoot yourself in the foot before you even start the race. Who knows, Zayn could be exactly who you want him to be.” 

He heads out the door, leaving Louis on the couch and Harry finally relenting on trying to pull him up off it.

“Lou?”

“I'm ready, I guess.” He stands up. “Let's do this then, yeah?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Louis is sitting atop the picnic table with his head hung low. He isn’t ready for this. He can’t handle being stood up once again, and he also can’t handle seeing Zayn face to face for the first time. 

 “What if he doesn't show?”

“Louis, just calm down, alright, jeeze.” 

He's tapping his feet on the bench and wringing his hands and looking all around like a madman before he stops on the parking lot, seeing a figure emerging from a shiny black car. 

 

Louis sees the boy from the pictures. The hair swept up dramatically, the skin like melted caramel, the slim white stick billowing smoke from his mouth.

“I can’t fuckin’ believe it,” Harry mumbles. He slaps a hand on Louis’ shoulder to try to get him up off the bench, but Louis is frozen.

He echoes back what Harry said before dissolving into a fit of laughter that is a combination of relief and joy.

Louis gets up from the bench and heads toward Zayn, who is stamping out his current cigarette, and lighting up a new one. “Louis? Tomlinson?” Zayn asks. He isn’t smiling, and doesn’t look very happy, but Louis looks past that, and attributes it to nerves.

“Yeah, yeah! I’m Louis. Zayn?!” He is practically bouncing with joy, and is seriously contemplating jumping onto Zayn and wrapping his legs around the boy’s narrow hips, but he realizes that may just be a tad too much.

“Yeah, 'm Zayn. Listen—”

“Gosh, you’re real. You’re real, you’re the boy from the pictures, oh my God.”

“Louis—”

“Thank God you don’t have that streak of blond hair anymore, because that was horrible, no offense—”

“Louis, listen!”

Louis stops dead in his tracks, about five feet away from Zayn.

Zayn looks past Louis to Harry (who is now walking over), then looks behind him to the parking lot like he is waiting for someone else to arrive. He taps a carton of cigarettes against the palm of his hand, and refuses to look up at Louis. 

“Zayn?” Louis wants to step forward and grab his hand or tilt his chin up or something, but it suddenly feels like he has a vice grip on his chest and he can’t breathe. 

“I can’t do this, man, I can’t.” He looks at Louis briefly before turning around to face the handful of cars in the lot. He shouts, “C’mon, man, enough!”

Louis and Harry exchange confused looks, and it feels like his chest is getting even tighter.

“What’s going on?” Harry puts a protective arm around his friend.

A man emerges from a sedan in the lot, about 50 yards away, and Zayn waves him over. As he gets closer, Louis and Harry just become more confused as they see who it is.

“Liam,” Zayn sighs, “C’mon let’s just stop this.”

Louis tries to back away, but Harry’s braces his hand against his shoulders to stop him. 

“Hi,” Liam says, casually, like he would say if he was meeting up with a friend for lunch.

“What’s going on?” Louis asks. “Zayn?”

Zayn pushes Liam forward. “Explain.”

Liam’s hesitant, and Louis is caught between angry and confused, and even the slightest bit hopeful. Maybe he can still be with the boy he fell in love with.

“Well, Zayn is real, as you can see. That’s his real Facebook, real pictures…”

“Obviously,” Harry scoffs. 

“But, um…you haven’t been talking to Zayn.” Liam’s voice breaks. “Not the whole time, anyway.”

Louis steps forward. His lower lip is trembling and his voice is almost as low as a whisper, “What do you mean?”

“Well, the condensed version, I guess, is, um, I wanted you and Zayn to become friends and stuff because I thought you’d like each other, but then he backed out after talking to you once or twice 'cause he’s kinda shy and stuff, and I just kept it up, pretending I was him.”

“So this whole time…”

“Me. Not Zayn.” 

Louis takes a half step back, and runs his hand over his face, not looking up at Liam, trying to speak clearly, letting the venom echo in each syllable, but it comes out broken and barely audible, “Everything I told you…”

“Never told anyone,” Liam offers a weak chuckle and a lop-sided grin, like that would make it all better. “Don’t worry.”

Louis spins on his heel and starts to walk away, this time without Harry trying to stop him. But a moment later, he turns back and stomps toward Liam until he is right in his face **.**

“I told you _so_ much, Liam. Stuff I never told my mom, my sisters, _anyone_. And you just went on acting like normal, like nothing happened?” His voice falters on the last two words as tears try to make their way out. He can feel himself shaking from deep within, like his bones are cracking and crumbling, if that is even possible. 

Zayn takes a step forward, sticks a cautionary hand out, “Louis, calm down.”

But Louis barrels on without acknowledging Zayn. “What like, ‘oh, Louis pass the Fruit Loops, nice job trying to kill yourself, real bang-up job you did there, pal’?” He shoves Liam’s shoulders as hard as he can, but of course that’s not much because he’s shaking so hard and can’t see through his blurred vision, plus Liam’s feet are firmly planted.

Liam puts a hand on Louis' forearm, and tugs a little like he's trying to guide him away from the small group that's gathered around them. “C'mon, let's go talk by ourselves.”

“No!” He yanks his arms away from Liam's grasp. “No, absolutely fucking not!” 

This time he does storm off without looking back. Harry wants to offer an apology, and Zayn wants to disappear, and Liam wants his legs to stop feeling like jelly, but none of them get what they want, so they just stand there silent and unmoving as Louis crunches gravel under every stomp away.

 

_It's been Liam this whole time. Not Zayn. Zayn doesn't know. Liam knows. Liam knows everything. Not Zayn._

Louis' chest is growing tighter and tighter with each passing instance and all at once he feels like he's going to collapse in on himself and explode outward until there's nothing left of him. He's pacing back and forth in an undetermined pattern of circles; he can't decide if he should go back and keep pushing Liam around (like it could possibly make him feel better) or just lay on the ground and hope it will swallow him whole. He's still crying, he thinks. His eyes sting and he can feel the warm droplets trickle down his cheek but it feels like they're doing it automatically, like his body's just resigned to exhaust itself to the point of collapse.

_You've never really talked to Zayn. Everything you've ever said never reached his ears. He didn't care about you like you thought he did. You've wasted your feelings on someone you didn't care for in that way. No one is going to love you like you want them to._

He's under some kind of pavilion now on the other side of the park, so far that he can't even see the boys anymore and that's reassuring. He's separated himself from the situation physically so now he can try to process it on his own mentally. 

After a while, Louis decides to lie down on the top of a picnic bench and close his eyes. He hopes to disappear. Eventually Louis can feel a new presence near him, and doesn't need to open his eyes to know that it's Harry, fidgeting endlessly and not knowing whether to sit by Louis and pat his shoulders or something, or stand there and let Louis figure it out on his own. He elects to sit on the furthest side of the bench, just in case Louis needs him (even though he wouldn't admit it if he did). 

Louis doesn't see anything but red and black spots behind his eyes, and hear nothing but mocking laughter ringing in his ears. He wants the ground to swallow him whole. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_When Liam first sees the scars, he stumbles over his words a bit. Like the questions he wants to ask are tumbling out before he gets to think it through and make sure he doesn't say anything that could hurt Louis' feelings. He's a ball of nervous energy, with fidgety limbs and restless eyes darting back and forth, caught between maintaining eye contact and avoiding it completely. Louis' unmoving, a statue perched on the arm of the couch in marbelized glory. Liam's trying, at least; doing his best to not offend Louis on purpose or anything, unlike certain Tomlinson family members._

“ _D'you wanna talk about it?...Or,” Liam scratches the back of his neck, swallows hard, “Or something? I dunno.”_

_Louis offers a tiny smile. “Not today. One day.”_

_After that day, Liam tries to learn a bit more, piece by piece. He’s learned that Louis has had trouble in school. He has four sisters, all of whom wouldn’t stop pestering him about the ‘pink lines’ they saw on his arms. His mother loves him dearly, but she just doesn’t know what to do with him; she wants to help, but her ‘help’ only made him worse. Now Louis is with Liam, and it looks like it’ll stay that way for a while._

_Liam’s good with people, or so everyone tells him (he knows he tries to be nice to everyone he meets, and apparently not everyone else does that), so he figures that he could be the light that Louis needs to find his way out of the dark._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When he logs onto Facebook that night, he’s caught off guard by the little red “1” in his message inbox. He’d like to ignore it, in case it’s from Liam—whom he’s not speaking to at the moment—but in case it’s from someone else, and it’s important, he checks it anyway. 

It’s from Zayn. Well, at least he thinks it’s from Zayn. It could be Liam still logged into his account.

> _**It’s me, Louis. Zayn. Are you there? I would like to speak with you, if you’re okay with that.** _

It was sent thirty minutes ago, and surely enough when he checks his “online friends” bar, Zayn is there.

> _**It’s okay. Whatever, I guess** _ _._

He hits send.

For what feels like an eternity, “Zayn’s typing something…” remains on the bottom of the screen, and Louis sits there not doing anything but making sure he keeps breathing. 

When Zayn’s message finally appears, it’s a huge block of text. It’s going to take Louis a long time to read it, pick it apart, analyze everything before he dares to type anything out. 

> _**I’m sorry, first of all. Didn’t mean for all of this to happen to you. You’re a decent guy, and I wish you weren’t hurt by this. What started as a friend’s well-intentioned idea turned into a** _ _**flaming mess of heartache and broken relationships. I do like you, Louis, just not in the way that you had hoped while you were talking with “me.” I’d like to be friends, if that’s alright. You’ve got a lot of interesting things to say and I wouldn’t mind having you around… If you don’t, I understand. And if you don’t want Liam’s friendship either, I’d understand. In my opinion, you should give the guy a second look. You do know how much he cares about you,** _ _**right? I've honestly never heard the end of it, with 'Louis did this,” and “what should I do with Louis?' He wanted to make sure you were okay, but just didn't know how to do it. You know Liam; he's always watching over everyone silently, figuring out how to help. He's just nervous with you, is all. I don't think I've ever seen him this wrapped up in someone before... It’ll be hard to get past this whole thing, but it’ll be worth it, trust me. Are you gonna be okay Louis?** _

Louis doesn’t really know what to say, which is a first. He’s always quick with a comeback to a joke or a comment or a question, but his hands are frozen and his mind isn’t functioning properly. 

Eventually, he types. A lot. Then deletes it all and starts over again.

> _**To be honest, I have to process this. I’ll message you back when I know what to say** _ _._

He hits send, then types out a quick _**Thanks**_ then closes his laptop. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_Louis had been in the apartment with Liam for nearly two months at this point, and he still felt like a stranger in his own home. They didn't talk very much, because Louis was afraid of sharing too much and alienating himself, and Liam was afraid of saying the wrong thing and making his roommate feel worse. Both boys knew that in order for this relationship to work out, they both needed to become more comfortable around each other, otherwise Louis could be even worse off than he was staying at home._

_Most of the time they just sat in the same room silently, save for the TV or their fingers click-clacking away on their laptops. They were fine with that, because it was better than arguing, or something._

_One night while Louis was watching something on his laptop, and Liam had his gaze fixed on the TV, Liam casually mentioned, “I think I know of someone that you could be with.”_

_It was so random, his voice breaking through cartoonish dialogue coming from the TV with something so personal, so out of left field that Louis thought he was just hearing things._

“ _What?”_

“ _Someone to, like_ be _with.” Liam said, flicking his eyes to Louis' for a moment before returning them to the screen. “Someone else to talk to if you'd like. I know sometimes I’m shit with words, so that doesn’t really help you…Maybe you could do more than talking if things work out.”_

“ _Yeah?”_

_Liam fully turns his body to face Louis, with a smile. “Yeah, his names' Zayn. He's been my friend, for, like, ever, and I’d think you'd be good for each other. Keep your company, or whatever.”_

“ _Yeah?” Louis' fighting a smile, getting excited, but not getting his hopes up too high, where it would hurt if they came crashing down. “When can I meet him?”_

“ _Oh, shit,” Liam' s face falters. “Um, he's, like, not... in the country anymore.”_

“ _What do you mean?”_

“ _Well he lived here in California for a long time, but he had to move with his dad to London a few years back.”_

_Louis sighs. “Then how the hell can I start a relationship with him?”_

“ _The internet's a wonderful thing, Louis.” Liam laughs and slaps his shoulder. “Haven't you heard of video chat?”_

“ _Shut up, you dick.”_

“ _So, what do you say? Should I tell him to add you on Facebook or whatever?”_

_One part of Louis' brain was battling the other: ‘why the hell not’ vs. ‘that's a bad idea, don't do it.’_

“ _Yeah,” Louis nods his head after a moment. “Yeah, I'll do it.”_

 

~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It’s a week later, and Louis is sitting on the couch, legs folded under himself and a bowl of the most colorful cereal he could find gripped tightly in his hands. Some cartoon is on TV, he doesn’t even really know what the title of it is, but he mindlessly watches it anyway, just to keep himself distracted. The room's dark, with just the blue and white and green light from the screen dancing around and forming shadows against the solid shapes of furniture around the room. 

His phone buzzes and flashes and he looks at it momentarily to see a message, in all caps, from Harry reading _**INCOMING LIAM. BRACE YOURSELF.**_

Louis doesn’t freeze up or go off running like other people probably would in a situation like this, when there's an impending threat of a fight looming ahead. _Has this ever happened to anyone else?_ Passes through his mind quickly, then he just eats another spoonful of cereal and dribbles a little milk on his shirt. He can't bring himself to get worked up over it; he's already wrung out all of his emotions over this situation and he doesn't see those emotions returning any time soon. 

By the time he's blotted his shirt dry to try and get the milk out, the “incoming Liam” finally made his awaited appearance. He looks right at Louis' half-illuminated face and nearly turns right back around and slams the door behind him, but he decides to step in and close the door softly instead. His back is to Louis for a minute or so, and Louis considers saying something before Liam faces him, but he can't think of anything coherent he could possibly say. He can taste bile and fruity cereal rising in the back of his throat. 

“Hey.” Liam says. It's useless though, because Louis doesn't budge a bit. “Can we talk?” He takes a few steps forward to hit the light switch, and they can finally see each other clearly, and Louis still doesn't shift. “You gonna talk to me or are you just gonna sit there and eat cereal?” 

Louis elects to ignore Liam once again, and keep his focus on the television screen as he spoons some more sugary pieces into his mouth. He still can't think of the right thing to say, anyway, so why bother opening his mouth at all and risk instigating something?

“Lou, we gotta talk about this. C’mon, man.”

It's tempting to just continue ignoring Liam, but he figures the chances of this conversation ending sooner would improve if he answered, even if it's not fully thought out, like he hoped it'd be. Wing it and hope for the best. “What do you want me to say, Liam?” He wipes some milk off his mouth with the back of his hand, and rises from the couch. “That I forgive you for what you did? That I’m totally fine, and our relationship will go back to the way it was?”

“No, but—,”

“But _what_ , Liam? D’you really expect us to move on from this like…like it was some little insignificant thing? A little blip on the radar of my pathetic life?”

As Louis heads to the kitchen, he brushes past Liam just close enough that the boy is nearly knocked off balance. Louis brings his dish over to the sink, keeps his back toward Liam. His legs are shaking just a little. He hopes Liam doesn't notice 

“No, of course not, Lou. I – I just...” Liam pauses at the same time Louis does; he's fidgeting mindlessly with the hem of his sweatshirt, and Louis still has his back to him, sloshing water around in the sink. Liam doesn't want to continue talking about this, not without Louis looking at him, but then again, he also doesn't want to yell or snap at Louis to make him turn around and look at him. He's trying to keep his voice level, to keep it calm, and he just has the tiniest crack in it as he whispers, “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, because that's gonna fix everything. A stupid fucking 'sorry.'”

Louis throws the bowl down in the sink, and it probably broke, but he's too angry to care, too shaken to worry about having to replace it at some point, and _fuck_ why can't he breathe properly right now?

“What the hell do you want me to say, Louis? You never opened up to me, your fucking roommate, but you could talk to some kid online that you've never met?” _So much for trying to keep calm_ , Liam thinks to himself. “How does that make any sense?”

“Why do you _care_ all of a sudden?” He turns to face Liam, and he still can't breathe and he doesn't want to shift his gaze from the cracked tile on the floor up to his roommate's face, but he does for a brief moment to see Liam’s cheeks are a deep red, and for some reason that just spurs Louis on. “Every other time I wanted to talk, you found something else to do; pathetic excuse after excuse. It's not like you were open and willing to discuss anything. How could I tell you something this important when you couldn't even pay attention to me long enough to make sure you buy the right fucking groceries at the store?”

“But _I_ was the one talking to you, Louis. Me. Not Zayn.” There was nothing but sheer desperation in Liam's cracking voice, because _why couldn't Louis just fucking_ understand _that he cared about him, but just couldn't do it face-to-face_? “You could tell him _everything_ and you wouldn't even bring it up to me. All those times you spent locked in your room, crying, because you had no one to talk to, no one to understand what you were feeling, when I was right fucking here, waiting for you to say something, anything. I was sitting right fucking next to you on the couch, with our laptops on. I was on Facebook just inches away from you, for God's sake. Do you know how fucking stupid that is? That I had to talk to you on the internet instead of face to face? It’s just as much your fault as it is mine.” There's tears fiercely trying to fight their way out of his eyes, and he's pretty close to letting them out, but he can't, he can't have a blur of anger and frustration distracting him from trying to get Louis to understand him. 

“How was I supposed to trust you with that part of me, Liam?”

Liam’s trying to talk as quickly as possible, over whatever Louis is saying, but they’re going back and forth so fast they keep cutting each other off, and to be honest, Liam’s about to burst and he can’t even listen to what Louis is saying because his words are tumbling out without a filter because he _needs_ them to be expelled from his body as soon as possible. “You could have at least tried—“

“I didn’t even know if you cared that much—”

“I would've listened to you—”

“God, I feel like such a miserable twat—”

“I was _here_ for you Louis, no matter what—”

“Why do I do this to myself—”

“Because I love you, why don't you get that?”

Liam absolutely loathes arguing for this exact reason; he gets so wrapped up in his emotions and the constant back-and-forth that he can barely control what he says, and that only makes everything worse. He feels bile rise up into the back of his throat and he's trying to swallow it back down so he can clarify what he said, but Louis is already at it, red in the face and taking shaky steps toward Liam. 

“Don't you say that. Don't you dare fucking say that Liam,” and before he can even think about how to react like a proper human being, he's shoving Liam, pushing his shoulders with as much force as he can muster, but it's hard to do because he's shaking all over and he can't see right with tears blurring his vision. “Take it back Liam. Don't you dare tell me something like that, take it fucking back!”

Louis is still shoving Liam and Liam wants to put his hands up to stop him, but he deserves every push, every bruise that starts to form on his tired skin. He wants the swirls of purple and blue to consume him, to give him reminders of how shitty he acted so he could evolve, become better next time. “God dammit, why can't you let someone into your life without it being a catastrophic event Louis?”

“Because I don't deserve it, don't you get that? I'm a fucking miserable and utterly useless human being, why should anyone waste their feelings on someone who can barely even function on his own?” Louis gives him another hard shove back, and Liam falls back against the wall, and Louis can see nothing but red, and it's dizzying. 

Liam steadies himself, and manages to shove Louis back—harder than he intended, but he really doesn't know how to knock any sense into Louis other than physically doing it—and follow up right after him, hands reaching for his shoulders to push again. “You need to stop feeling so sorry for yourself Louis, and realize people are actually capable of caring about you! _**I**_ care about you more than anything!” They've been gradually stumbling over to the other side of the room, Louis' back eventually hitting the doorframe to the kitchen, and Liam's own hands are shaking and unsure of what to do.

Louis raises his hands like he's going to shove Liam again, but Liam grabs his wrists tightly, too tightly, and holds them out to the side and hesitates for a moment, while Louis tries to thrash his arms and break free. He lets go of Louis, but immediately brings his right hand up to clutch the back of Louis' neck and pulls him in for a violent kiss, nothing but teeth and forced lips. His nails are digging in to Louis' flesh and he can taste a tiny metal tang on his bottom lip and he can't breathe and he can feel Louis trembling under his grip. Liam pulls away for a moment to apologize, or, something, he doesn't know exactly, but Louis balls a fist in the front of his shirt and pulls him back down into a kiss that isn't as aggressive, but is still bruising. 

“When will you stop being,” Liam loosens the grip on the back of Louis' neck, but keeps his hand there to keep their faces close, “such a self-deprecating idiot.”

Louis tugs on Liam's shirt quite hard—a couple bits of the hem pop, actually—and he's still got bitter tears in his eyes, and he hasn't stopped shaking, but now he's not sure if it's because he's still so incredibly angry or because he's so desperate for Liam to do something. He wants to say something but he's afraid it'll come out as some incoherent mess; it doesn't matter anyway, because Liam kisses him again and shuts him up before he has a chance. 

From there, they're both just shaking messes of anger and want, and neither of them can stop the forward momentum of the situation. Louis has one hand clutched tightly in the back of Liam's hair and the other gripping the empty belt loops at the small of Liam's back; Liam's dropped his hands from Louis' neck and is reaching down to grope his ass through thin pajama bottoms. 

Eventually Liam manages to hoist Louis off his feet, and keep Louis’ back pressed against the wall while hooking his legs around Liam's waist. Their movements are becoming more intentional, it's not just heat of the moment decisions; Louis isn't trying to push Liam away, and Liam isn't trying to split Louis' lip open.

“Put me down,” Louis pants, “somewhere, anywhere, I don't care.”

Liam obliges, and without hesitation he takes a few steps down the hallway until they're in his bedroom, and he's dropping Louis onto the bed, and he's hovering over him with knees bracing either side of his hips. He feels like he should apologize for instigating the argument and for shoving him and everything, but he finally, _finally_ , has Louis right where he wants him.

“D'you know how long I've been waiting for this?” Liam's voice is low, and hoarse, and he sounds like a fucking cliché, but he's painfully hard and Louis is looking at him like he's _everything_ and he feels like jumping out of his skin. 

“Why are you bothering to talk? I don't fucking care. Just put your mouth somewhere on my body,” Louis says as he tries to ruck up Liam's shirt, but Liam pushes his hands away and takes the shirt off himself, throwing it somewhere on the floor. 

_This is happening. This. Is. Happening. THIS IS HAPPENING._

Liam's mind is a blur and he's sure his heart is either going to burst out of his chest or stop beating altogether, and he can't seem to pop the button on his jeans and _fuck_. Before he can say anything, Louis is sitting up and deftly undoing his jeans and trying to shove them off his hips. Liam wants to stand up and take them off the rest of the way, but Louis' ghosting his mouth over the growing bulge in Liam's boxers and he can't help but forgo doing anything that doesn't have to do with his cock and Louis' lips. 

Liam pushes Louis back down, pinning his arms above his head, and leans down until he can feel Louis' breath tickling his lips. “Say you'll talk to me, Louis. Stop being a miserable twat who refuses to get help. Do it, I swear to God.”

“Only if you'll fuck me.”

He honestly expected Louis to say something stupid like “ _make me_ ” which was totally something that only happened in cheesy pornos. Liam hesitates, thinking he misheard Louis because his heart is thumping so loud behind his ear drums, but Louis has his thumbs hooked under the elastic of Liam’s boxers, inching lower and lower. 

“Fine, fine, Lou, just—fuck.”

Louis’ hands are running over the swell of Liam’s ass, pushing his boxers down and off his hips. Liam needs to take something off Louis because he’s still fully clothed; he just wants skin against skin and the delicious heat of their chests being pressed flush against each other. 

Like he was suddenly a mind-reader, Louis pulled his shirt off, threw it somewhere, then moved down to his pants, but Liam put his hands there instead and nearly ripped the seams he was trying to get them off so quickly. 

He wants to touch Louis everywhere, with both his mouth and his hands, and it seems like there’s just too much he wants to do and not enough time to accomplish it. In all honesty, he’s waiting for Louis to bolt upright and run out of the room screaming, so Liam’s trying to hurry and get it done, and relish it slowly at the same time. This wasn’t how he wanted it to finally happen, but he’s doing his best to make it work and enjoy it.

“C’mon, kiss me. Kiss me again.” Louis’ voice is small and quiet and it catches Liam off guard because he’s still heated from the argument, and he’s not ready to be whimpering and moaning softly like they need to be conscientious of how much noise they’re making. 

He lowers himself down slowly until he’s nose-to-nose with Louis and he pauses, whispers, “Are you sure?” He’s waiting for the _no, get off me_ , but he can’t just keep doing what he’s doing without making sure Louis is okay. His lips are a deep red and his whole face is flushed.

Louis nods and tilts his chin up so his lips are closer to Liam’s, and Liam captures Louis’ bottom lip in between his own, and sucks lightly. It’s a silent apology for nearly splitting his lip open before. 

He cups Louis’ jaw lightly with one hand and lets the other travel down his torso, skimming against protruding ribs and down over a fleshy belly, just barely touching the sensitive skin underneath his belly button. 

Louis responds with fingernails scraping up and down Liam’s back and an incessant whining that’s a mixture of _hurry up_ and _holy shit that feels good_. And just then, he’s back to sounding venomous, like he’s ready to scream at Liam again. “Quit being so gentle, I’m not some precious thing that can break easily.”

“I beg to differ.”

Louis digs his nails into the small of Liam’s back and he’s clutching desperately at any exposed skin he can get his hands on. He keeps lifting his hips up, trying to get any kind of friction he possibly can to relieve even the tiniest bit of pressure, because at this point, he’s pretty sure he’s going to come even if Liam barely touches him. 

Liam’s reaching up and over Louis to his nightstand nearby and pulls out a bottle of lube impressively fast, and he’s flicking the cap open just as swiftly. For good measure, he heavily glides his hand up and down Louis’ body from his chest all the way down to the junction between his pelvis and his thigh before grabbing and kneading his ass.

He pours a good deal of lube onto his thumb and presses against Louis’ hole, but not putting any of it fully inside.

“Do it, fucking do it,” Louis hisses. It’s angry and desperate, and Liam can’t take it anymore. Fingering him without any prep whatsoever hurts, he knows that, but he’s too frustrated with Louis to bother warning him before pushing in up to his second knuckle. 

It’s the grunting—almost whining of complete pain and the need to stop—from Louis that makes Liam regret doing this, but then Louis’ gripping Liam’s shoulders with white-knuckled desperation, and he knows that he shouldn’t stop.

Liam pumps his finger in and out of Louis alternating between slow and deliberate and hard and uncaring. Louis’ cock is a deep shade of pink, laying untouched against his twitching stomach muscles and Liam is sure his looks very similar, and he really wants nothing more than to wrap a hand around it and bring himself right to the edge.

“Fuck—fucking—hurry, up, _shit_.” Louis’ hair is matted to his forehead and he’s breathing so hard it looks like his chest is going to concave, so Liam switches it up, pulling his thumb out and replacing it with two fingers, then brings his free hand to wrap around the base of Louis’ cock. 

Liam works both his hands so fast, he knows that if this was happening to him, he’d already be on the verge of blacking out and completely losing himself before experiencing everything he wanted. He looks up at Louis, who’s eyes have been shut this whole time, to see him looking down, heavy-lidded and pupils fully blown. 

He curves his fingers and twists them up right into that sweet spot, and just like that, Louis is screaming a mess of obscenities,and comes hard over Liam’s hand. That’s nearly enough to have Liam lose himself right there despite remaining untouched, and he can’t take it anymore. He pulls his fingers out of Louis and uses that hand to rub over his own head, down the shaft and back up again in a few quick successions before he shoots off, come splattering up Louis’ chest in streaks. 

They’re both shaking, again, but it’s not from pure anger like it was when they were arguing; neither of them can actually believe what happened—Liam especially—and after they come down from their highs, it’s nothing but their ragged breathing and irregular thumping heartbeats filling the room. 

Louis wants to say something, to try and expel whatever rambling thoughts he has in his mind, but he comes up empty-handed, just sitting there with his chest heaving and a new, more painful burn spreading like wildfire throughout his entire body. He didn't let his walls down slowly and intentionally like he had hoped to do one day, but rather, Liam completely obliterated them before he could make him stop. 

Liam wishes he could've done this differently, could've made it something for Louis to remember. To have it mean something, to make him feel like he could be fixed and taken care of if he just gives Liam the chance. He wanted sweet and tender touches that left goosebumps in their wake; he wanted Louis to open up for once, let something fantastic and wonderful happen without exaggerating all the negative feelings that were miniscule in comparison to the joy. 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ 

Around nine the next morning, Liam wakes up to a booming clap of thunder and a shaking Louis clinging to his side like a koala bear. The sky is slate grey and completely void of any light—save for the occasional bolt of lightning—making it difficult see around the room clearly, just vague black shapes of objects scattered about. 

_He’s still here_ Liam thinks, allowing himself to slowly rub a soothing hand up and down Louis’ back as another boom rattles the very foundation of the room, and lightning illuminates one side of his sleepily content face. The boy is half asleep, at that point where a jostle could wake him up fully, and complete silence could lull him back into a serious slumber. 

Liam’s arm is itchy, but it’s trapped beneath the pillow supporting Louis’ head. It’s going to drive him crazy if he doesn’t scratch it, but Louis would drive him even crazier if he woke him up now, before he was ready. 

But he wants to Louis to wake up, and still want him. To want to spend every morning like this, in their own private nation where the outside world doesn’t have to exist unless they want it to. It could be just them curled into each other on the couch with tons of blankets and the only light in the room coming from the TV screen. He wants Louis to get that same sparkle in his eyes that he had whenever he talked about Zayn; the fondness, the love, the hope for a stable fixture in his life that could make everything better. 

Another flash of light briefly illuminates the room, and Louis rolls over, almost on cue, freeing Liam's arm. He slowly, carefully, rolls out of the bed so he doesn't wake Louis up because, honestly, he could spend the whole day looking at his face, peaceful and serene for the first time in a really long time. He doesn't want to ruin this for his best mate. 

He makes coffee, Louis' favorite kind—a Christmas blend, '' _because it fills me up with the holiday spirit year round, Liam”—_ and the hints of cinnamon and nutmeg make him think of Louis, curled up on the sofa clad in his red and green plaid pajama pants, nothing else; Louis would smile around the rim of the mug for no reason, except for the fact that he was here, he was here and he could enjoy a nice cup of coffee and not have to worry about whether or not he'd make it through the day unscathed. Liam liked that Louis, the one who could muster up the courage to be brave, and courageous, and leave his darkness tucked way away in the back of his mind, without letting it escape and fester and bring him down. Liam liked every Louis, every bit of him, even the troubled ones, but the Louis with the smile and the unfaltering glint of hope in his eyes was his favorite by a long shot. 

Liam sits at the counter watching the coffee slowly drip into the awaiting pot, while the gurgling and bubbling noises couple nicely with the trickling rain on the rooftop. 

He also hears the tiny pitter-patter of bare feet coming in contact with the hardwood floor, and doesn't turn around before saying, “G'morning. Sleep okay?”

Louis doesn't answer, just gives a brief look over his shoulder before reaching up to highest cabinet for the box of pancake mix.

“I slept fine,” Liam says. “Nice to wake up to the rain. 'S nice.”

Cabinet doors open and close, silverware clatters together, the griddle sizzles to life, all while Louis keeps his back to Liam and lets all of the surrounding noises fill the void that he is not currently occupying with his voice.

“Lou, can we—”

“Not now.” 

Liam wants to push further, to get him to talk about what happened last night, but he's afraid that if he does, Louis will put up his defenses and the progress they made—if you could even consider what happened “progress,” and not “whoops maybe I shouldn't have done that”—will be for naught. So he stays quiet.

Louis makes pancakes quickly and efficiently, and when the first batch is done, he stacks them on a plate and slides it over to Liam, just barely looking up at him. He also makes some for himself, and when they're done he turns the stovetop off, moves the griddle so it doesn't sear to the hor surface, pours a cup of coffee and marches off to his room, with the door slamming shut behind him. 

The pancakes are dense with crispy edges, just the way he likes, and Liam wants to thank Louis, but he won't. He'll just clean the batter and the griddle when he's done, then head out for the day to shop, or see a movie, or something, just to get him out of the house for a bit so both of them can clear their heads. **  
**

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Just like the night before, Louis is on the couch with a bowl of cereal, silent and focused and not acknowledging Liam. 

Instead of yelling, Liam just fixes a bowl for himself then sits in the space between Louis’ feet and the arm of the couch, which is entirely too small to fit comfortably, but he deals with it anyway. 

“Whatcha watching?”

“Dunno.”

Liam can see the “ _Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends marathon_ ” logo in the bottom right corner of the screen anyway. It's like that awkward small talk you make with someone you don’t really want to be around, but you have to. You just point out obvious things because that somehow feels less awkward than sitting in complete silence. 

He’s about to ask Louis what cereal he’s eating instead of sitting there like a loser—it’s Lucky Charms, 90% of the box’s marshmallows in the one serving—when Louis mutes the show. He's still not looking anywhere near Liam's direction, but this is for him.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Louis says slowly, deliberately. “But we will. Later.”

Liam nods, and doesn’t offer up anything other than that, and he’s fine with that. He’s not ready to talk yet either.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

> _**Louis:** _ **Something happened.**
> 
> _**Harry:** _ **ARE YOU OKAY?!**
> 
> _**Louis** _ **: Yeah.**
> 
> _**Harry** _ **: Okay, you scared me. What happened?**
> 
> _**Louis** _ **: Liam and I…**
> 
> _**Harry** _ **:….baked a cake? Killed each other? What?**
> 
> _**Louis:** _ **Come over. Now. He's gonna be out for a few hours.**

Harry's over in record time, and doesn't even bother knocking, he just lets himself in with the spare key he bummed off Louis a few months ago (which would have annoyed Louis at any other time, but right now, that was the last thing he was thinking about).

 

"I got pizza, y'want some?"

“I don't give a shit about the pizza , what the _fuck_ happened, Lou?!”

The slice of pizza in Louis' hand is halfway to his mouth before he pauses to look at Harry, deadpans, “Take a seat.”

“Shit, what _happened_?”

Louis shoves the pizza in his mouth until his lips hit the crust, because he doesn't know how to say this, what tone of voice to use, how to not look like an idiot, so he figures he can remedy all of his worries with scaldingly hot cheese.

“Ahslpept wuh Lumm.”

“Yes, Louis, that was very clear, I understood you perfectly, thanks.”

Louis tries to say it again and cheek the pizza like a squirrel, but he ends up half choking on it, “Ah slept wit Leemo.”

Harry continues to stare at him, wide-eyed, the realization of the half-mumbled words dawning on him. “No you didn't.”

“Yeah,” he finishes choking down the last bit of pizza before speaking again. “Yeah, I did.”

“Fuck.”

“I know.”

“No, dude,” Harry starts to smile, “Fuck! You fucked him! That's great... right?”

Louis shrugs his shoulders. 

Harry plows right along, “Dude, but, like, isn't that good? You've wanted to bone 'Zayn' since you started talking to him, and now you finally did. Granted, it wasn't the physical, dreamboat hunk of a man you thought it'd be, but that's not what drew you to him in the first place, right?”

Louis shrugs again. 

“Yeah, so like, being with the Zayn you saw in those pictures would've been nice, but you've got Liam, who is always there for you and always cared about you and stuff! If you think about it, he's like, the REAL Zayn.” He smacks Louis' shoulder to get him to look up. “Plus, Liam's quite fit.”

“I dunno, Harry,” Louis grabs another slice of pizza from the box and shoves half of it in his mouth. “It's just, like, it's _Liam_.”

“Yeah, and?”

“It's _Liam_.” 

“Liam who wanted you to feel good about yourself. Liam who clearly cares about you more than anything. Liam who would do anything for you. Liam who wanted to suck your—,”

“Alright, alright, shit.” Louis throws his crust at Harry's head. “Yeah, he cares, but, like, how am I gonna...reciprocate it, or whatever?”

Harry shrugs. “Have you talked to him yet?” Louis stays silent, and doesn't look at him. “Oh come _on_ Louis, you can't pull that silent treatment shit all the time! It gets annoying really quick.”

“I know, I know. I just don't know what to say? Like, I'm sure he's got some big 'ole speech prepared and I'm just gonna stand there like an idiot not knowing how to respond.”

“Practice with me.”

“What?”

Harry perches on the arm of the couch, facing Louis with a big grin. “I'll be Liam. You be you, obviously. Go first.”

“Umm, hey Liam.”

“Hello you sexy beast.”

“Harry!”

“Sorry, sorry.” He clears his throat. “Hi Louis. You alright?”

“I guess.”

“I'm good, by the way. Glad you're alright.”

Louis rakes his teeth over his bottom lip and shrugs. “Alright, um, I think we should talk, or something, _Liam_.”

“That would be great, Louis. You talk, I'll listen.”

He runs his hands up and down his thighs like he's trying to make them less clammy or something, and he can't think of what to say. This isn't even Liam, it's just Harry, he could say anything without any repurcussions, so why is he is so afraid of speaking?

“Lou?” Harry prods, his voice soft. “Take your time, you can do this. It's okay.”

He can feel his chest quivering as he exhales slowly, and he knows he just needs to do this and stop acting like a baby. 

“I'm broken, Liam. I'm a wreck, always have been. It's, um... it's not easy for me to be open, y'know? 'Cause whenever I was, I just ended up feeling worse than I did before. And I, um, I...I know that you wanted to, like, get me to talk with you and stuff, but I just couldn't do it. I know you care and I know you want me to be happy, and I'm just not used to that. I'm not used to people actually wanting to listen to me and help me and stuff.” He looks up at Harry, who just nods and encourages him to continue. 

“I really don't like how you lied to me, though. You could've just done it in person instead of making me think I was falling in love with someone else. That sucked, and it wasn't really fair...for either of us. I trusted you Liam, and now I don't know how long it will take for you to earn that trust again. But, um, I want to try. If you still want to.”

Louis lets out a huff of breath that he didn't know he was holding, the shaking in his chest leaving along with it. 

“Good, very good, Louis.” Harry wraps him in a hug, not acknowledging the tears that are soaking his shirt, because Louis hates when people see him cry and Harry hates letting Louis feel like he's being stared at. “You'll do great, you can do this.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

His hands shake as he tries to send the text, with his fingers and autocorrect creating new words or words that make absolutely no sense in context. Breathing has become a thing that Louis constantly forgets to do when he's thinking about the future he may or may not have with Liam. 

> _**Louis: hey can I talk to you?** _
> 
> _**Liam: Ummm, yeh, I guessss.** _
> 
> _**Louis: come home?** _
> 
> _**Liam: gimme 10 min.** _

 

 Louis can't stay still, can't sit on the couch for more than five minutes without getting up and pacing, then sitting back down again when that became just as annoying. Liam was taking longer than ten minutes, and each ticking second made Louis more and more anxious until he couldn't hear anything but his heartbeat pounding behind his ears.

Maybe he couldn't do this after all. He forgot everything he wanted to say, couldn't think of anything but basic words that exemplified his feelings: me angry, you lie, feel hurt, me sad... He'd sound like a toddler who was learning how to speak, but couldn't string together any sentences or anything that remotely made sense. 

“Louis?”

He turned to see Liam in the open doorway, keys jingling in his hands, and eyes focused right on him.

“Hey,” it's so soft, Louis can barely hear it himself. 

“You, um, you wanna talk?”

Louis nods.

“Yeah?” Liam steps further into the room and closes the door behind him. “Good, 'cause, I, like, um, I want to talk too.”

They're avoiding all eye contact now, unsure and scared and nervous of what is to come. Louis wants to apologize, or explain himself, or something; Liam wants the same, but he also wants _this_ to turn into something, or at the very least, go back to some semblance of normality like they had before everything transpired. 

“We should, um... do... do you wanna sit, or something?” Louis asks.

Liam shrugs and nods his head simultaneously. “Yeah, um, here good?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Liam's body stutters as he lowers himself onto the side of the couch opposite from Louis, debating whether to face forward or turn his whole body to face him.

Louis opens his mouth to say something at the same time Liam does, and they both kind of giggle nervously, look at each other then away again. This is like some romantic comedy BS. 

“I'm sorry,” Liam says. “You're probably tired of hearing that, but I am. Really, Louis, I—”

“Sorry, yeah.” He chuckles. “Y'know, Harry had me practice, like, a speech of the stuff I wanted to say, but, um, I kinda forgot most of it. So, I'm just, uh, I'm just gonna say the bits I can remember. Is that alright?”

Liam nods.

“Um, well, first, what you did was shitty. I mean _really_ horrendously shitty Liam.... I know that I was an ass too, for not talking to you and stuff since you're right here, but that still didn't give you the right to lie to me.” Louis takes a deep breath. “You could've said something, man. Two years? Two fucking years, and not a single word, not a 'hey, sorry Louis, but I've been talking to you this whole time!' or anything. If you said something earlier on, I wouldn't have been as mad, but, _two whole years_. And you knew exactly how I felt about Zayn, what I told you in person, or whatever you gathered from our messages. You still didn't come forward.”

“Lou—”

He shakes his head. “That was really shitty, Liam. Really. I know you mean well, and I'm sorry for not realizing that sooner, but you know how I work. You have to be straight up with me, or I'm not going to see things right.” He pauses. “I'm not used to be actively wanting to care about me, y'know? That's why the whole Zayn thing was such a big deal to me. To finally have someone that wanted to listen to me, wanted to help me...I've never experienced that before. I know that was you, and I know you were trying to help me in person, too, but...”

“I should've said something.”

“You should have.”

Louis finally looks up at Liam, to see him staring down at his hands, his eyes barely visible, but it's still very obvious that he's starting to cry. 

“I meant well, Louis,” Liam chokes on his name. “I really, really did. I'm no good with words, but you have to understand me, man.”

Louis chuckles softly. “I think you're pretty great with words, actually.”

“I meant, like, in person. At least when I'm typing it out, I can think about it a lot first and fix any mistakes. I always wanted to say the exact right things to you, Louis.”

Louis holds up his finger, like _wait a sec_ then he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “D'you remember my birthday last year?” He brings up an old message, and hands the phone to Liam. “I was an absolute wreck that day. Took an hour of 'Zayn' sending message after message to get me to calm down.”

“I thought you were gonna do something,” Liam says, an almost whisper, as he reads through the messages. 

“But I didn't. Remember what you said? You said _'you're a bright light, Louis. The room may be kind of dark right now, but one day you're going to illuminate it. You're going to shine fiercely, and you're going to see how great you could be if you keep on trying_.'”

Liam meets his gaze, and kind of half-smiles, before his face falls and the tears start to bubble over his eyelids. “You still remember that?”

“Remember it.... _Liam_ that's literally the only thing I can think of that can bring me back. It's scribbled all over my notebooks and I always say it before I go to bed. I'm never going to forget that.”

He reaches out to put a hand on Liam's knee, and Liam looks up at him and his whole expression has changed, his crinkly-eyed, tight-lipped smile is out in full force, and before Louis can say anything else, Liam's throwing his arms around him in a hug. 

“I'm sorry, Louis. Please...I want this—”

“Yeah, I want it to work, too.” Louis nestles in chin into the crook between Liam's neck and shoulder. “It's gonna take time, though. Need to trust you again, yeah?”

“Mhmm. Sorry.”

“It'll happen a lot sooner if you stop saying 'sorry,' man.”

“Sor—okay.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two weeks have passed since Louis and Liam spoke about what the future holds for them, and he’s feeling…good. As good as he could be, given the situation.

“How're you two doing, by the way?”

“Working on it. Day by day and talking to each other about our feelings, all that crap.”

Harry holds the door to the diner open for Louis, and he heads in first, to the booth in the back corner, already occupied by Liam and...Niall.

“Wow, never thought I'd see you again.” Niall chuckles. “And I get to proper meet you this time. That's ace, I've heard so much about you.”

Louis slides in next to Liam, and Harry takes the opposite side, next to Niall.

“You’re the dude who showed up when ‘Zayn’ couldn’t make it to the coffee shop, right?” Harry asks.

“Yessir, Niall Horan, at your service.”

“How'd you get roped into that mess in the first place, man? D'you know this idiot?” Harry gestures to Liam, who subsequently kicks him under the table. 

“Dumb and Dumber, I call 'im and Zee. Met Zayn when he first moved to London. Came with him here to California twice when he visited his mum, met Liam the first time, and kept in touch since. He convinced me to move out here last year, and I love it!” He slides the menu back and forth between his hands, looking down at it instead of up at the boys across the table, and he pauses for a minute. “Didn't know exactly what was going on when they told me to meet Louis at that coffee place, though. Zayn was kind of uncomfortable with it, and Liam wouldn't explain what was happening til well after the fact... Sorry if I ruined anything, Louis.”

Louis shakes his head. “You didn't know. Didn't really matter that much in the long run, really. Everything kinda worked out...eventually.”

Liam nudges Louis' shoulder with his. “Sorry 'bout that too.”

“I'm going to make a jar and keep it at the apartment.” Louis huffs. “It's gonna be like a swear jar, but instead of putting in a dollar every time you say 'fuck,' I'm gonna make it five bucks every time you say 'sorry.' Seriously!”

“Okay, okay.” Liam smirks. “I apologize.”

“You’re insufferable.”

The waitress comes by and takes their orders a bit later, so the four of them are sitting there chatting about anything and everything, acting like they've known each other forever, and like they've never had any hitches along the way; it’s nice, Louis thinks. He’s got a group of friends who he can talk to, who are actually interested in him and what he has to say. 

“Where's Zayn?” Niall asks, not looking up from the little cartoon he was drawing on his placemat (he asked the waitress for the kid's menu, along with the kid's mat and crayons too. He’s going to be a nice addition to his life, Louis can tell).

Liam kicks him under the table. “That was _supposed_ to be a surprise, asshat.”

Louis’ head shoots up quickly, looking back and forth between Niall and Liam, and even Harry—who just shrugs his shoulders—before he can feel himself break into a smile. 

“You talked to him since...um....”

“No, Harry.” Louis says. “Kinda excited, though. Dunno why. Got m'real Zayn right here.” 

There's a chorus of “eww's” following that, and even he has to admit that was super corny. 

When Zayn finally arrives, he falls into conversation easily, like all five of them were meant to come together and bond over their common factor: Louis. 

Louis kind of drifts in and out of listening to their conversations; mostly, he's just reveling in the fact that they're here, he's here, and everything will be okay soon enough. For the first time in his life, he has people who actually care about him, and actually want to be a part of his life without dragging him down at all.

 

Plus, he's finally accepted that Zayn wasn't going to be the saviour he always envisioned. Yeah, he'd definitely become a part of his life, hopefully a good friend one day, but he'd surely be taken off the high pedestal he was once placed upon.

 

Louis kind of thinks of it like the _Wizard of Oz_. There's this great, powerful being who could make all of your dreams come true [Zayn]; once you found the wizard, you'd find your way home. Except in his case, instead of finding a lying psychopath behind a curtain, Louis would find someone else who could feel like home. 

When he looks up at Liam, Louis sees the man behind the curtain. He sees the simple smiles meant as encouragement; the small gestures that let him know everything will be alright if he keeps his faith; the radiating warmth and promise that he will be a stable fixture as long as he is wanted. 

Liam looks at Louis, gives him one of those smiles reserved just for him, and nudges their shoulders together. 

“Y'alright?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” Louis nods. The knot that had worked its way into his throat was coming undone, allowing him to breathe again. He smiles a little, happy and grateful. “Yeah, 'm good.” He pauses for a moment, and looks at Liam. “Are we going to be okay?”

His hand is still shaking against his leg, despite his now-relaxed nerves. Liam's hand envelops it, calms it, negating every worry that had been coursing through it the moment before.

“Yeah, we're gonna be okay Louis. _You're_ going to be okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> stop by [my tumblr](andzoidberg.tumblr.com) and let me know what you think or just say hey!


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